


more than acquaintances

by butterflysky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-CACW, Sharing a Bed, Sort Of, in an AU where bucky didn’t get frozen again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysky/pseuds/butterflysky
Summary: Wakanda, Sam thinks, is his new favourite place on earth. Its landscape is beautiful, the city is bursting with lights at night, no one has tried to kill him and/or arrest him, and the apartment T’Challa has given them is big enough that he can go days at a time without seeing Bucky Barnes.(Steve leaves Sam and Bucky alone for a while, and it goes better than expected.)





	more than acquaintances

Wakanda, Sam thinks, is his new favourite place on earth. Its landscape is beautiful, the city is bursting with lights at night, no one has tried to kill him and/or arrest him, and the apartment T’Challa has given them is big enough that he can go days at a time without seeing Bucky Barnes.

Sometimes Steve gives him a very mournful and very earnest look and asks if they can all have dinner together that night, and Sam guesses he turns the same look on Bucky because they end up sat round their kitchen table, Bucky glaring at his food and stabbing his fork down too hard, while Steve tries valiantly to fill the silence and get them to actually talk to each other. It never works.

Natasha arrives after about a week. She flatly turns down Sam’s offer to take a room in the apartment and the next time he sees her it’s on the balcony of her own place, face hidden behind massive sunglasses and a book in her hand, casual like she hadn’t turned against the governments of the world for them only a few days ago. Sam heard about what she did for them from Steve, and he can see the sad, _this is all my fault_ look starting to creep over his face so he drags Steve over to Natasha’s place and between them they try to distract him long enough for him to actually smile.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asks, lightly, and the small smile on Steve’s face starts to slip.

“He didn’t want to come,” Sam says, which means, _Steve asked him if he was ready to leave the apartment for something other than therapy yet and was met with a resounding no, and a door in his face._

“Huh,” Natasha says, and leaves it at that.

Things tick along just fine in Wakanda for a while — Wanda starts to look a bit brighter, Clint and Scott start working out covert ways to contact their families, and Steve stops looking quite so perpetually despondent. Bucky starts to leave his room more often, more once the scientists fit him with a new arm, starts to actually sit on the couch in the evenings with them, and things would be fine if he wasn’t _quite so irritating._

As if it wasn’t enough to _rip the steering wheel of his car out of his hands while he was driving_ , Bucky has now taken it upon himself to ask questions — incessantly — every time it’s Sam’s turn to pick the movie for the night, and Steve will always give him a patient, thoughtful answer, and every time Sam turns his head to glare Bucky’s got this little smirk on his mouth, like he’s doing it on purpose _because he is_ and he knows Steve will never believe Sam if he complains.

The movie’s just getting to Sam’s favourite part, and he must sit forward in his seat or something because he sees Bucky open his mouth out the corner of his eye, and when he whips his head around to glare, Bucky looks him square in the eye and says, “I don’t get it, why are they arguing?”

“Oh, Buck, it’s because—” Steve starts, and Sam groans under his breath, sinks back into the cushions, and tries to tune them both out. He’s hyper aware of Bucky smirking at him.

Steve starts insisting they eat together more often once Bucky stops spending most of his time behind a closed door, and after watching Sam and Bucky argue over who asked for the salt first, he says, in a quiet, melancholy sort of voice, “It’d mean a lot to me if you two were friends.”

Sam isn’t sure whether to apologise or roll his eyes, but Bucky makes the decision for him when he groans and says, “Steve, pal, believe me, I’m trying.”

“You—” Sam splutters, indignant, and then he sees Bucky’s got that smirk back on his face and he settles for rolling his eyes and folding his arms, resolutely ignoring that he’s really quite hungry and he can’t actually eat like that.

Steve sighs, and says, “You’re going to have to get on for a little while, because I’m going away for a bit.”

They both go tense.

“What?” Bucky says, at the same time Sam says, “ _Steve_.”

Steve shrugs, and he’s got his Earnest Captain America Look on his face (even if he doesn’t go by that name anymore).

“It’s not for long. T’Challa thinks he might be able to help us sort out this whole mess, and—”

“I’ll go with you,” Sam says, immediately.

“You can’t,” Steve says, gently. “I can’t risk you getting arrested because of me again, Sam.”

“Hey—” Sam starts, and he knows arguing with Steve is kind of a pointless exercise but that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

“How long?” Bucky interrupts, quiet.

“Maybe a week,” Steve says. “Hopefully less. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

Sam refolds his arms. “You’re going to check in every day, right?”

“To check in on _you_ ,” Steve says. “Both of you. Don’t trash the apartment.”

Sam tries to look as unimpressed as he can, because he’s the tidy one, and Bucky keeps leaving his plates next to the sink.

“We’ll do our best,” Bucky says gravely, and Steve looks like he’s trying _his_ best not to look worried.

***

They wave Steve off at the landing strip, neither of them willing to admit how worried they are, at least not to each other, and then Bucky looks back in the direction of their apartment and rubs nervously at his metal wrist.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks, because he’s _trying_.

“I’m going out,” Bucky announces, and starts walking away.

Sam stares after him, confused. “You’re—what?”

“Going out,” Bucky says, as if that clears things up.

“Where?” Sam demands, and he doesn’t mean to sound quite so incredulous, but Bucky’s only been leaving the apartment to meet up with doctors for weeks.

“You’re worse than Steve,” Bucky says, and then he sighs and says, “I’m going to the gym.”

“The gym?” Sam says, and starts following him without really meaning to.

“Natasha said she’d spar with me,” Bucky says.

“Since when have you been talking to Natasha?” Sam asks, falling into step beside him.

Bucky glares sideways at him. “I have a phone.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Sam says.

Bucky’s shoulders hike up by his ears. “I don’t see what it has to do with you,” he snaps, and then shuts his eyes and stops walking.

“Hey, man,” Sam says. “Was just asking. Sorry.”

“No, it’s—” Bucky says, then rubs at his face. “I’m sorry.” They stand there wallowing in the awkwardness until Bucky says, like each word is being dragged out of him, “You could...come along.”

Sam thinks of Steve saying _it’d mean a lot to me if you two were friends_ , and says, “Okay.”

***

Sam hasn’t watched Natasha fight for what feels like ages. He forgot how she moved like liquid, as if she was aware of gravity’s existence but chose to ignore it, and when that’s going up against the ex-Winter Soldier, it’s really something to watch.

They seem to be pretty evenly matched, at least until Natasha pulls a move that Sam isn’t sure is humanly possible and slams Bucky down flat on his back.

He stays on the mat in a kind of thoughtful silence for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, then says, “Did I teach you that?”

“You wish,” Natasha says, smugly, and helps Bucky up for round two.

Sam watches them for a while longer, then starts to feel like he’s intruding on something and gets up to wander outside, under the brilliant sun. The sky is totally clear of clouds, perfect flying weather, and he doesn’t think he’s ever missed his wings quite as much as he does then. He knows where they are, tucked under his bed in the apartment, and there’s nothing stopping him from putting them on but the nagging feeling in his stomach that he shouldn’t indulge himself when he might never get to be the Falcon again. A clean break would be better, he’d told himself. He isn’t so sure now.

“Hey,” Bucky says, from beside him, and he jumps only slightly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Sam says, and Bucky gives him an exasperated look so he says, “Just thinking about going flying.”

“What’s the problem?” Bucky asks, taking a long drink from his water bottle.

Sam watches his throat bob as he swallows, then looks forward and says, “There isn’t one. Come on.”

***

“Your room is freakishly clean,” Bucky says, nose wrinkled up as he surveys Sam’s bedroom.

“No, your room is just a disgrace,” Sam says, sliding his wings out from under the bed. He runs his hands over them, as if checking them for moth bites, then says, “Want to come watch?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, after a brief moment’s silence.

In the stretch of empty grass behind their apartment building, Sam straps on his wings and tries not to remember Bucky ripping one of them off and kicking him from the helicarrier.

“Where’s your little robot?” Bucky asks.

“ _Redwing_ is right here,” Sam says, and then, because Bucky is staring with eyes a bit wider than usual, he brings Redwing up and out of the suit and sets him flying round in lazy circles.

“Cool,” Bucky breathes, and then says, deliberately unaffected, “If you like robots.”

“And you don’t?” Sam says, unimpressed. “Steve’s told me about when you dragged him to the science expo that time.”

Bucky looks like he actually _blushes_. “Well—”

Sam brings Redwing down lower to hover over Bucky, taking pity on him, and Bucky squints up at it, seizing the distraction. “What’s it do?”

Sam, always grateful for a chance to talk about Redwing, tells Bucky everything he can think of while he straps his wings on. Bucky actually listens without interrupting, and Sam likes to think the expression on his face is awestruck when Sam takes off.

Bucky stays a little dot down on the ground while Sam swoops through the air, minding the force field, ducking and diving and spinning until he supposes it’s probably time to land. Bucky’s still there when he does, lying back like he’s sunbathing with his arms folded behind his head.

Sam nudges his foot and Bucky lazily opens one eye. “What?”

“I’m heading back,” he says. “Coming?”

Bucky trails after him, and the silence doesn’t quite feel awkward anymore.

***

Sam wakes to a text from Steve: a simple, kind of ominous, _ok?_

 _Yeah_ , he replies. _You?_

_Working on it._

Sam sighs, locks his phone, and tries not to think about it. They’d avoided even mentioning the Accords for ages, and Sam doesn’t think he’s quite ready to go back to dealing with it all just yet. He misses his family, but Scott and Clint were happy to share their communication channels, and that helped take the edge off the homesickness. It won’t be enough forever, though — but if anyone can sort it out, it’s Steve and T’Challa.

When he leaves his room, Bucky’s nowhere in sight, which he isn’t sure is a good or bad thing. He panics, briefly, that Steve had text because he hadn’t heard from Bucky, that something had happened to him and Sam hadn’t noticed — until the apartment door flies open and Bucky walks in with a coffee in each hand.

“Hey,” he says, kicking the door shut behind him. “I got you one.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, trying to hide that he’s taken aback. “Uh, what are your plans today?” He winces at how stiff it comes out.

Bucky gives him an amused glance. “Same as yesterday, I guess.” He says. “Why, you got a day out planned for us?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You give Steve this much shit back in Brooklyn?”

“No,” he says, and slurps his coffee. “ _He_ gave _me_ this much shit.”

Sam laughs, then says, “We missed movie night last night.”

“I won’t understand them without Steve here to explain them,” Bucky says with that _smirk_ back on his face and Sam kind of wants to yell at him and kind of wants to laugh again so he settles for a halfhearted glare.

Bucky’s smirk turns into a genuine smile, and Sam feels his breath catch a little. Bucky smiling like that is a rare thing, these days. Shame, he thinks, because it’s a nice smile.

He gives himself a mental shake and says, “Alright, let’s hit the gym.”

***

They fall into the same routine for the next two days, and Sam stops mentally counting down how long it is till Steve’s meant to come back. Bucky stops acting like he isn’t fascinated by Sam’s wings, too, which amuses Sam to no end because he can’t stop _staring_. When Redwing’s in the air, Bucky’s like a cat watching a laser pointer. It’s kind of mesmerising.

They make it through a movie without Bucky asking a single question, which Sam counts as a victory, and when Steve sends another _ok?_ Sam replies _great_ , and hopes it doesn’t sound sarcastic.

Bucky starts yawning early on the third night, and Sam watches him fight to stay awake until he gives in and shuffles off to bed. There doesn’t seem to be much point finishing the movie without him, so Sam turns it off and retreats to his own room. He’s been mindlessly scrolling Twitter for a half hour before his door cracks open and Bucky pokes his head round.

“Uh,” he says, and Sam raises an eyebrow.

Bucky slips all the way inside and shuts the door behind him. “Nightmare,” he blurts, his metal hand gripping his other hand so tight it looks like it hurts. “Can we—I mean, is there —”

“Sure man,” Sam says, and tries not to sound tired. He sits up. “You want to go out, stay in?”

“In,” Bucky says, quickly. “In.”

“Fine by me,” Sam says. “Want to watch another movie? There’s that new Disney one—”

“Actually,” Bucky says, and Sam stops. “Uh, actually, when Steve was here, he’d...” Bucky motions with one hand at the bed, then goes back to clutching at his wrist.

Sam realises what he’s getting at. “Alright,” he says. “That’s—that’s alright.” He shifts over in the bed.

“Thanks,” Bucky says, still too fast, and Sam sees he’s blushing scarlet to his hairline. “I mean it, thanks,” he says, in the kind of earnest voice Sam expects more from Steve.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says, quiet, while Bucky settles in next to him. He lays rigidly on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

“You gonna sleep?” Sam asks, and he does sound tired, now.

“Probably not,” Bucky says, barely above a whisper, and Sam wonders what kind of ghosts are haunting him that night. He understands, though. There are some things that don’t leave you.

“Alright,” Sam says, again. He locks his phone and puts it on the bedside table. “Goodnight, then.”

“Night,” Bucky says, still quiet, and Sam clicks the light off.

When he wakes up, Bucky is still there, asleep now, breathing deep and slow.

Sam slides out of the bed without waking him, and answers Steve’s regular text with _we’re fine_.

***

Natasha invites them all round her apartment for card games and drinks the next night, and Bucky actually seems excited to get her text, which takes Sam by surprise.

“You want to go?” Sam asks, trying not to sound disbelieving, and Bucky nods.

“I’m great at card games,” he says, and Sam snorts.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, and Bucky manages to look half smug and half offended.

Bucky goes a little quiet when everyone else shows up at Nat’s place, and for a while Sam’s worried he’s going to get up and walk out, but then Clint shows him something on his phone that makes him laugh and Sam relaxes, and then starts trying to pinpoint when exactly he started worrying so much about Bucky’s happiness at any given moment.

Nat’s giving him a look that’s too perceptive for his liking. He pulls a face at her and drinks his beer.

It’s fun, Sam thinks, for all of them to hang out like this, as if they’re just a group of friends meeting up on a regular Saturday night. Bucky laughs a lot, and whenever he’s not talking to someone he has a kind of half smile on his face that puts Sam at ease. He’s doing well, Sam thinks, and feels a warmth in his chest.

It turns out Bucky is _great_ at card games, and he wins every single one.

***

“That was fun,” Bucky says brightly, following Sam into the apartment, and Sam hums his agreement.

“You gotta teach me your ways,” Sam says, absently, as he looks through the fridge for something to eat. When he turns around, Bucky is perched at the kitchen island, watching him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Bucky says. “Is Steve texting you _ok?_ every morning as well?”

Sam laughs. “You know he is.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, fondly, and says, “I’m thinking about telling him I flooded the apartment tomorrow.”

“He’d be back here faster than humanly possible,” Sam says, and Bucky grins.

The smile starts to fade. “Has he—has he told you anything about how it’s going?”

Sam shakes his head. “Just that he’s still trying to sort it out.”

Bucky looks down at the tabletop.

“You better not be blaming yourself for anything, now,” Sam says, warningly. “I mean it. I get enough of that from Steve.”

Bucky’s smile comes back, just a little. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

They look at each other for a moment, then Sam clears his throat and says, “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Yeah, I guess I’m tired too.” He looks back in the direction of his bedroom door.

“You okay alone?” Sam asks, and Bucky looks back at him.

“Uh,” he says, and Sam gets it — they’ve spent the whole evening with the others, and now they’re heading off to their dark and silent bedrooms and it’s a little jarring, sure. He gets it. “Come on, Barnes,” Sam says, and Bucky hops off his chair after him.

Bucky falls asleep fast, but Sam lays awake next to him for a while, listening to the deep in and out of his breath, wondering how things would change when Steve came back.

***

Both their phones vibrate at the same time the next morning, with the same text: _hit a delay. Everything’s fine, but I’ll be back a few days later than I thought. Don’t trash the apartment._

“Don’t you dare tell him you’ve flooded it,” Sam says, voice still rough from sleep, and Bucky’s laugh is just as low and deep. Sam feels a twinge in his stomach and does his best to ignore it, especially considering  _they’re next to each other in bed._

“You’re no fun,” Bucky says, but frowns intently at his phone screen and taps out a reply.

Sam answers, _no worries. You ok?_ and Steve replies _fine, but it’s moving slow._ Sam frowns in sympathy, says, _keep us updated_ , and puts his phone back on the side table. He hopes Steve doesn’t read too far into the _us_ , because there’s nothing to read into. Is there?

Bucky’s still typing.

“Are you writing him a novel?” Sam asks, and Bucky does that low, deep laugh again. Sam is momentarily distracted by how sharp his jawline is. He doesn’t think he’s ever noticed that before, so it’s great that he’s noticed it now, _when they’re next to each other in bed._

Bucky puts his phone back, turns his head on the pillow to look at Sam, and says, “Just chatting.”

They’re doing that thing again, Sam realises, where they just look at each other in silence, and Sam thinks he should probably do something about it, like, _look away_ , but it’s nice to just lay and enjoy the quiet stillness of the morning for a little while, he thinks.

“What are you doing today?” Bucky murmurs, eyes flitting down Sam’s face.

Abruptly, Sam turns to look at the ceiling. “Nothing much, probably. You?”

“I don’t feel like the gym,” Bucky says, and Sam can hear the frown in his voice.

“You looked round the city yet?” Sam asks.

“No,” Bucky says. “Don’t like the crowds.”

Sam gets an idea, then, something to do with the quiet disappointment in Bucky’s voice and the way he’d watched Redwing and then Sam fly through the air with rapt attention. “Okay,” he says. “Hey, meet me back at the apartment at eleven tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky says, sounding a bit bewildered, because Bucky is almost always at the apartment in the evenings anyway.

“Cool,” Sam says, and then stands to get dressed in the bathroom.

***

Bucky disappears somewhere for the rest of the day, so Sam takes the chance to go out to the city himself. He likes the crowds here, because he knows he’s totally safe — that there’s a force field between him and the rest of the world, that no one here wants to hurt him. He understands why it’s hard for Bucky to feel like that.

He checks in on Wanda, who’s looking a lot happier than she has for a while. He’s glad that things seem to be healing, even if it is slow — that Wanda and Bucky are doing better, that Steve and T’Challa seem to be onto something with the Accords.

“What about _you_?” Nat asks him, when they meet up for lunch. “How are _you_ doing?”

Sam takes a moment to think about it. “I think I’m doing okay,” he says. “Still miss flying, though,” and he knows she knows what he means, that he misses flying with a mission attached.

She gives him that knowing look again, and Sam takes an interest in his drink.

“Well, I’m glad we’re all doing fine, too,” Natasha says, and holds up her water for a toast.

***

Bucky is lounging across the couch at eleven when Sam makes it back from the city.

“Thought you were going to stand me up,” Bucky says, without taking his eyes off the TV.

“No chance,” Sam says. “Come on.”

Bucky looks up, startled, and says, “We’re going somewhere?” He starts to look wary. “I told you, the crowds—”

“No crowds,” Sam says, and holds his hand out for Bucky to take and pull himself off the couch. “I promise.”

Bucky holds onto his hand for a second longer than he needs to, then follows Sam out of the apartment and up the stairs to the building’s roof. It’s dark out, and kind of chilly — Bucky crosses his arms tight over his chest.

“The roof?” he asks, confused, and Sam waves him forward.

“Look,” he says, and sits down on the edge, legs dangling over the side. Bucky watches him doubtfully, then sits beside him. It’s just as Sam guessed — the height doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He’d thought it would, after his fall, until he saw the way Bucky watched him fly.

“What am I looking at?” Bucky asks, but then he looks up from the ground below them and his mouth drops open a little.

From the roof, there’s a clear view all the way to the brightest parts of Wakanda, to the lights and the rush. It’s a technicolour show against the dark sky, and Bucky’s eyes go wider than Sam’s seen them ever go.

“The city,” Sam says. “With no crowds.”

Bucky blinks a few times, the lights reflecting off his eyes, and then he turns his head enough to look at Sam, starts to say _thank you_ , but Sam leans forward and finally closes the gap between them.

Bucky’s hand comes up to his face, cradling his cheek, and Sam winds a hand in his hair and kisses him properly, deeply, the lights shining on their faces, and wonders why he’d never thought to do this before.

***

 _Ok?_ Steve texts the next morning, and Sam glances across to where Bucky is sleeping next to him, and replies _better than._


End file.
